


Dovahkiin: Wren

by sorrowfulcheese



Series: Dovahkiin [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 14:19:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11922687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrowfulcheese/pseuds/sorrowfulcheese
Summary: More self-indulgent fluff with the Dovahkiin and her werewolf boyfriend, in the time leading up to the end of the Companions questline.





	Dovahkiin: Wren

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers perhaps, if one has not played through all the Companions quests; be warned.

    "Why didn't you bring her straight back?" Skjor demanded.   
  
    Farkas shrugged one shoulder, unconcerned. "It was cold," he said. "And she had nothing on. I thought it would be best to let her rest and warm up."   
  
    "You knew we were all out looking for her."  
  
    "If I'd brought her straight home, you'd all still have been out looking."   
  
    He was right, of course, but Skjor wanted him to feel at least a little guilty, to duck his head in apology. To express something other than his usual stolid serenity, by the Nine, _anything at all_. Instead, Farkas tilted his head to either side to stretch his neck, settled back into his chair, placidly awaited more questions or a dismissal.   
  
    Skjor sighed at last. "Fine," he grumbled. "No harm done in the long run."   
  
    "I wish you hadn't done it," Farkas said, and Skjor looked sharply up at him; Farkas’ expression had not changed. "Kodlak thinks we shouldn't."   
  
    Skjor clenched his jaw a moment. "The beast form," he said sternly, "is a gift of power. It is a blessing, and I will not turn away from it simply because the old man has had second thoughts."   
  
    Farkas shrugged again, rose slowly from his chair to stand at his full height. He didn’t do it to intimidate; Farkas was nothing if not respectful. He’d said his piece and he was done, and Skjor watched him turn and amble toward the stairs.   
  
    He sighed as the door swung shut and left him in relative quiet. Down the hall, he knew, Kodlak was poring over ancient books, ever searching for a cure but anticipating his death and hoping to alter his fate. Skjor could not bear to join him in that journey; he looked forward to the prospect of hunting eternally with Hircine.  
  
    Aela drifted out of the shadows and lightly perched herself where Farkas had been a moment before, and she watched Skjor a moment, unsmiling.  
  
    “Sometimes,” Skjor said, rueful, “I wonder if anything I say gets through to him.”  
  
    “He hears everything you say,” Aela assured him. “He’s slow to process it, but it gets through.”   
  
    "But he doesn't seem to grasp the import of my words."   
  
    Aela considered. “I think he realises that what you say is important to _you_ ,” she said at last. “Whether or not he finds it important himself—“ She shrugged. “At least he doesn’t fight you the way Vilkas does.”  
  
    “No,” Skjor agreed. “Vilkas comes at me with fists and shouting. That, I know how to deal with. Farkas just sits there like a damn rock. I’d almost rather the fists.”   
  
    “Not those fists,” Aela pointed out with amusement.  
  
    Skjor shook his head, flashed a wry smile. “Maybe you’re right.”  
  
    “You know I am.”   
  
    He scrutinised her face a moment; she continued to watch him calmly, and waited for him to speak. “Rumour has it the Skinner's back up at Gallows Rock," he said at last.  
  
    Aela nodded. “When do we leave?”  
  
    “I’m going alone,” he told her, and raised a hand to halt her protest. “I want to scout it out. See what defenses she has up there, see their numbers. I want you to bring New Blood along once she's up and about. We can let her get a taste for real hunting, with the two of us to watch over her."   
  
    "I thought she was going to Windhelm, or something."  
  
    He frowned. "Who sent her to Windhelm?"  
  
    Aela shrugged one shoulder. "None of us, I think. Overheard her mention a couple of days ago that she was going."   
  
    "She can put that off," Skjor said sternly. "Her priority should always be the tasks assigned by the Circle."  
  
    "Fair enough. What are you hoping from her, that you want to pit her against the Skinner?"  
  
    "I want to see competence at the very least," Skjor said. "Ideally, the ability to use her skills and her strength to adapt to her surroundings, especially in a situation where she has a disadvantage."  
  
    Aela's eyes narrowed. "Disadvantage? You're not secretly hoping to get her killed there, are you?"  
  
    Skjor snorted rudely. "No. But she's one of us now, with the Blood. It's up to you and me to ensure that she learns to control and wield it effectively. No one else is going to do it."  
  
    "True enough. When are you leaving?"  
  
    "Dusk. I won't need to rush, and by the time I reach Gallows Rock it'll be dark again."   
  
    "All right."  
  
    "Hold down the place in the meantime," he said, and Aela smiled grimly at that. "And when the whelp gets up, see if you can't get her to train a little in the beast form before you leave, or while you're on your way. Get her used to how it feels. Once she knows what she can do, I don't think she'll turn away from it. She's got ambition."   
  
    "That she does," Aela agreed. "Vilkas has sent her out on a few jobs, and he very grudgingly admits that she's done them quite well."   
  
    Skjor chuckled. "So he's told me. High praise, from Vilkas."   
  
    "Indeed." She watched him a moment longer. "I wish you'd take someone with you, even if it's not me. You need a shield-sibling to watch your back, Skjor."   
  
    He smiled warmly. "I'm not going in there for a fight," he reminded her. "And I'm not going to risk the Skinner catching me in a corner. Farkas has a job to take care of later today, and Vilkas is training the younglings." He shrugged. "And you'll be coming along anyway, so I'll be fine."   
  
    Aela's mouth tightened, but she did not protest further. "Then I'll wrap things up here," she said, "and I will see you tomorrow." She stood. "Be safe, Brother," she said softly. She turned and vanished into the shadows again, leaving nothing but the echo of her words in Skjor's ears.   
  
    Skjor rose at last and made his way toward the back of the living quarters, to inform the Harbinger of his plans and to receive any advice that Kodlak might have to offer.   
  


* * *

  
    Ehlana lay curled in the bed, facing the wall, safely cocooned in a pile of warm furs. If only she did not have to move again for any reason, she told herself with a little sigh, she never would.   
  
    The door opened quietly and shut again, and the bed groaned and sank dangerously under a great weight. "Hey."   
  
    "Hey," Ehlana replied, reluctantly.  
  
    "You gonna get up anytime today?"  
  
    "No."   
  
    Farkas chuckled. "Well," he said, "Aela's starting to pace, wondering where you are, and it won't take her long to find you hiding out in here." His broad hand rubbed her shoulders, soothing, through the furs.   
  
    "Tell her I've got something else to do. With you."  
  
    "Uh-uh," he said. "She told us all that you're hers, today, and I'm not gonna fight her on that. She scares me, especially when she's mad."   
  
    Ehlana wriggled around beneath the furs to face him, careful not to expose her skin to the air. "What does she want me to do?"  
  
    "Didn't ask." Farkas watched her soberly. "How you feeling?"  
  
    "Tired. A little hungry."   
  
    "Can't do much for the first," Farkas said, "but there's plenty of food upstairs to help you with the second." His eyes narrowed, then, mischievous. "How are your tiny toes?"  
  
    Ehlana scowled. "They'll never be warm again."  
  
    "I told you you couldn't walk all the way home without boots."   
  
    "You don't need to be smug about it."   
  
    "If not that, then what?" He grinned, then sobered again, reached up and drew the backs of his fingers over her cheek. "Get up. I don't want Aela breaking my door."   
  
    "Serve you right if she did," Ehlana informed him, even as she sat up, still holding the furs around herself.  
  
    "What did I ever do to you?" he wondered. "I brought you home safe, gave you my potions, and even let you sleep in my bed."   
  
    "Mocking my cold feet, the whole time."   
  
    "Why d'you think I didn't get in the bed with you?" he said, with a fierce grin. "I was afraid you'd put those icy things on my warmest bits." He stood swiftly and yanked away the furs; the movement nearly flung Ehlana from the bed. She yelped and caught her balance, sat on the edge of the bed and tried to glare up at him.   
  
    "If that's all you're afraid of," she said, "you should've gotten into the bed."  
  
    "I'll remember that next time," he said, with a gleam in his eye. He cocked his head and listened a moment. "She's on her way down here again, so you better get out."   
  
    "Mean."   
  
    "Out."   
  
    Ehlana stood, shook out her legs; before retreating to Farkas' room the night before she had retrieved her own leather leggings, and a pair of thick woollen socks. She still wore Farkas' shirt and he raised an eyebrow now as he watched her. "I will see you later, then," she said, and with a jaunty wave she turned and opened the door.   
  
    "I need that shirt," he called after her.  
  
    Across the hall, Vilkas was just leaving his own room, and he paused, looked at Ehlana, then up at Farkas. "Hello," he said, hesitant.   
  
    "Hello," Ehlana bid him cheerfully, and padded away down the hall. Behind her she could hear the twins' low voices in conversation, and just as she slipped around a corner Aela's sharp tones joined them. Ehlana cursed under her breath, and sped toward the communal sleeping quarters.  
  
    Inside, Ria looked up from a book she was reading, startled by Ehlana's rapid entrance. "Where've you been? I thought you'd gone off to Windhelm without letting me give you the money and my hide."   
  
    "No," Ehlana said, apologetic. "I wouldn't have done that. But my plans have been changed for me." She made a face; Ria mirrored the expression in sympathy.  
  
    "Aela?" she asked.  
  
    "Yes," Ehlana sighed. "She's on her way." She began to pull her armour pieces off the rack next to her bed. "Soon's I'm done with whatever she wants me to do," she said, "I'll be heading to Windhelm whether she likes it or not." She stepped carelessly into her boots and made a sound of annoyance as her leggings bunched up beneath them. She thrust her fingers down into the boots to straighten out the leather cuffs.   
  
    "Let me give you a hand," Ria said, and she set her book aside, stood and held Ehlana's chestplate while she wriggled into it. Her deft fingers found the buckles easily. "Nice shirt," she said wryly.  
  
    Ehlana's face grew hot. "It's—comfortable," she said, weakly.  
  
    "I'm sure it is," Ria responded. "Roomy, too."  
  
    "Shut up, woman," Ehlana scolded.  
  
    "Did he give it to you before, or after?"  
  
    "Before or after what?"  
  
    "You know I don't care," Ria laughed. "Though I'm sure Kodlak would have something to say about the newest Companion bedding one of the Circle."  
  
    "That's not what happened," Ehlana exclaimed.   
  
    "What's not what happened?" Aela's voice cut in sternly, and Ehlana and Ria froze in place. "Please, continue with what you're doing," Aela went on, arms folded. Her piercing eyes roved over them both, and Ehlana could not shake the sensation of being pulled apart and judged, and found wanting.   
  
    Ria swallowed and, red-faced, resumed fastening the last buckle holding Ehlana's chestplate in place. "That's it," she said, and patted Ehlana's pauldron. "Here's your helmet, and your gauntlets."   
  
    "Thank you, Ria," Ehlana said. She tucked the helmet under one arm, the gauntlets under the other, and wriggled her hands into her leather gloves. "Farkas told me you need me for some work," she said to Aela.  
  
    "Indeed," Aela said. "Odd, isn't it, that he's the only one ever able to find you?"  
  
    "Just a coincidence," Ehlana assured her. She pulled her gauntlets on over her gloves, ensured they were secure, and then held her helmet in one hand. "Where are we going?" she asked.  
  
    "Gallows Rock," Aela told her, and beckoned to her to follow. "Skjor's gone ahead to scout it out, and will be waiting for us there."   
  
    Ehlana pulled on her helmet, grabbed her warhammer and jogged to catch up to her shield-sister.   
  


* * *

  
    “ _Es da na, Far_?” Vilkas asked sharply, with a gesture after Ehlana’s retreating back.  
  
    Farkas leaned against the doorframe, shrugged. “ _Nen paro_.” He folded his arms, glanced after Ehlana; when she was gone, he looked back at his brother. “What do you care, anyway?”  
  
    Vilkas’ jaw tensed. “You don’t know her, Far,” he said through his teeth. “You still don’t know where she’s from, still don’t know the real reason she came here—“  
  
    “Sure I do. Why she came here, anyway.”   
  
    “You know what she’s told you. You don’t know.”  
  
    Farkas shook his head. “We didn’t know where Jergen came from, did we?”  
  
    “We were infants,” Vilkas snapped. He folded his arms and lowered his head, defensive.  
  
    “Didn’t know where Njada came from, when she showed up here.”  
  
    “That’s not the same—“  
  
    “Nor Torvar.”  
  
    “Now you're just being an ass.”  
  
    "I just don't see why it's different in her case," he said pointedly, and searched his brother's eyes. "She's proven herself honourable. She's proven herself strong enough, even to you." He shifted his weight to one leg, rested the other foot on its toes. "She's done nothing suspicious. She does her work well. She helps out around here. She gives food to that beggar who's always in the market."  
  
    Vilkas’ brow furrowed. "She does what?"  
  
    "She buys it, and then gives it to him with a cock-and-bull story about how she needs to hide it from Tilma for some reason. I don't know." Farkas shrugged again. "Look, I'm just saying, if you think I'm too stupid to judge a person for myself, come out and tell me, Vil."   
  
    Vilkas stared at him a moment, his eyes plainly showing his internal struggle. "You know I don't," he said at last, softly. "I just worry—maybe—you're not thinking straight, since you met her." He shifted uncomfortably.   
  
    Farkas unfolded his arms and swiftly reached out to pull Vilkas into a headlock. Vilkas struggled, red-faced, to break the hold, though they both knew it was futile. "Yeah, I know," Farkas said, "I'm a lost little whelp, helpless under the spell of the magical fairy princess—"  
  
    "What are you two doing?"   
  
    Farkas looked up at Aela, who stood staring at them, hands on her hips. With his free hand he petted the top of Vilkas' head with exaggerated gentleness. "Nothing," he said. "Right, Vilkas?"  
  
    " _Mmf_ ," Vilkas agreed.  
  
    "I swear," Aela said, "if I didn't know better, I'd think the two of you were still ten years old."   
  
    "We were a lot smaller, at ten."   
  
    Aela sighed, aggravated, and rolled her eyes. "Where the hell is she, Farkas?"  
  
    "Maybe check her room?" He shrugged. "I wasn't told I had to watch over her at home."   
  
    She glared, and for a moment he felt a flicker of unease; it passed as Aela spun on her heel and marched away. Farkas waited until her footsteps were no longer audible, and he looked down at Vilkas. "Not that I'd mind," he said, confidentially. "And I'm pretty sure she wouldn't, either." At last he released his brother and Vilkas straightened, scowled, and reached up to smooth his mussed hair away from his face.  
  
    " _Fenda bre ta_ ," he grumbled.   
  
    "You'd know," Farkas said with a chuckle. "Let's go upstairs and get something to eat."   
  


* * *

  
    Once outside, Aela felt a little better. Sunshine and a cold breeze were more stimulating than any drink or potion. Ehlana walked beside her, quiet, and once they had left the safety of Whiterun's walls, periodically paused to pick flowerheads and leaves off various plants, and stuffed them into her pouch. Aela approved; growing up in the wild with her father had given her a keen eye for healing herbs, as well as the knowledge that a little forethought would save time—and possibly a life—in the future.   
  
    "So," she broke the silence at last. "You gave us even more trouble than Farkas did, at his first turning."   
   
    Ehlana glanced at her. "He gave you trouble?"  
  
    "You know how strong he is," Aela said. "The beast form makes him even stronger. It took all of us to catch him that night, and none of us got away unscathed."   
  
    "But you prepared for him to run, didn't you?" Ehlana wondered. "You all know that everyone runs."  
  
    "There's only so much you can prepare," Aela said with a shrug. "And no. _I_ didn't run. Skjor says that he didn't, either."  
  
    "What about Vilkas?"  
  
    Aela chuckled at the memory. "Vilkas is smart, and he's fast," she said, "at least faster than Farkas. But he was so frightened that he didn't get far, and we were able to bring him home easily."  
  
    "Did you turn them both at the same time?"  
  
    "Yes. They wouldn't do it, otherwise. We wanted to do it on different days, but they refused. Our hope then was that by having them change together, they would moderate one another's reaction."  
  
    "But that didn't work." Ehlana paused a moment, kicked at some grass and bent over to peer at something on the ground. Aela stopped to wait for her.  
  
    "No, it didn't."  
  
    "And you didn't bring either of them when you turned me—why?"  
  
    Aela sighed, looked up at the blue sky. "The twins are with Kodlak," she said at last. "He thinks that accepting the transformations was a mistake. Skjor and I didn't want to start any arguments, so we took the initiative. You're strong, you're smart—we hoped you would have a spark of sense, even in your first transformation." Ehlana straightened. "We underestimated your reaction," Aela admitted. "But all's well that ends well."   
  
    "Did it?" Ehlana asked.  
  
    Aela looked down at her; Ehlana's expression was suddenly blank, the way it had been the day she had been tormenting Vilkas. "Did what?"  
  
    "Did it end well?"  
  
    "You came back alive, to fight another day."  
  
    "Would I have, had Farkas not found me?"  
  
    "More than likely. The transformation would have worn off, and provided you hadn't caught the attention of any Vigilants or city guard, you would have been found."  
  
    "More than likely," Ehlana echoed softly, and sighed. "Please let me know the next time you want to inflict a life-changing condition on me, so that I can choose whether or not to accept it."  
  
    "You accepted it," Aela pointed out, "when you drank the blood."  
  
    Ehlana nodded, slowly, and looked in the direction they had been walking. "Fair enough. How far is Gallows Rock?"  
  
    "No closer if we stand here," Aela said, and gestured to her as she resumed walking. "We should be there in a few hours."   
  
    Ehlana caught up to her and said nothing. Aela did not sense resentment or anger from her; she did not sense anything. The girl was good at keeping herself to herself, which Aela appreciated. _No sense giving anyone enough rope to hang you with._ Her father’s gentle words in her mind brought forth a wave of pleasant memories, and Aela smiled to herself.   
  


* * *

  
    It had been raining for two days now.  
  
    Farkas approached Jorrvaskr from the east, through the concealed tunnel that led up through the Underforge. Torvar lagged behind him, injured but uncomplaining. The whelp needed to improve his stamina, certainly; after a couple of days' steady walking and with only minor wounds he seemed exhausted. Or maybe just dehydrated.   
  
    Farkas waited at the inner door of the Underforge, for Torvar to catch up to him. He would let Skjor decide what to do with the whelp, he mused. _He_ just did what he was told.  
  
     _Not very well_ , Ehlana's words echoed in his mind, and he barely suppressed a smile at the memory. He wondered if she had returned successful from the mission to Gallows Rock.  
  
    Outside once more, Farkas strode swiftly to the verandah, to get out of the rain at last. He lowered his head and gathered up his hair into his hands, squeezed the water out of it and then straightened and shook his head to let his wet hair settle more or less into place. He glanced at Torvar, who stood awaiting instructions. "Go on inside," Farkas said. "Get Tilma to look at your wounds."  
  
    "They're not that bad," Torvar scoffed, even as he limped obediently through the doors. Farkas looked around the waterlogged yard, then up to see the glow of the Skyforge just as bright as ever. The sight of it warmed him inside; it signified _home_. He turned around again and slipped through the doors and into the familiar dry heat of the mead hall.  
  
    He blinked a few times to let his eyes adjust to the dim light, and looked around. Only Aela sat in a corner, feet propped up, a mug in one hand and an open book on her lap. She raised her mug when she saw Farkas, and he made his way toward her.  
  
    "Skjor's gone," she said, and Farkas frowned, stopped next to her chair.  
  
    "Gone where?"  
  
    "Gone," Aela repeated. "Gone. To Hircine's hunting grounds, I suppose." She sighed, lowered her mug, and watched Farkas solemnly. "He went ahead of us to Gallows Rock. He was supposed to scout it out and be sure of their numbers, their defenses. I took Ehlana there. It was going to be a test of sorts, a mission to help Skjor and I clear out Gallows Rock, and maybe take down the Skinner."   
  
    Farkas' stomach tightened. "Yeah, I remember. What happened?"  
  
    Aela shook her head. "Don't know. She and I went in—the place was locked down. That should've been our first sign that something was wrong. In the end, the Silver Hand ambushed us. They knew we were coming, and they—" She exhaled. "They'd already killed Skjor. Left him in the middle of the room, like he was vermin. They surrounded us, and they would have killed us if not for her."   
  
    Cold relief trickled down from behind his ears, and guilt followed it. Farkas nodded slowly. "She's good in a fight," he noted.   
  
    "Not just that," Aela shook her head again. "Remember you told me about her Shout?"  
  
    "Yeah," Farkas said. "The dragon words."   
  
    "Yeah," Aela repeated. "The dragon words. I hesitated, Farkas. I saw Skjor's body and I stopped, and I turned just in time to see the Skinner not an arm's length away from cutting me in half. And Ehlana Shouted—turned the Skinner into solid ice, and then shattered the ice with her hammer." She smiled, weakly. "If it hadn't been for the circumstances, I suppose it would have been a beautiful thing."   
  
    Farkas nodded again. "Did you bring Skjor home?"  
  
    "Yes. I'm sorry, Farkas, we already had the ceremony."  
  
    He shook his head. "It's all right," he said. "He fought well, and he fought honourably, and he was taken down by dishonourable action. You and she put things to right."  
  
    "More or less," Aela agreed. She uncrossed her ankles and crossed them in the other direction. "She's not here, by the way. She's out—on a job."   
  
    "All right." Farkas rolled his shoulders, stretched his neck. "I'll go see Kodlak."  
  
    "By the way, Torvar looked the worse for wear when he came in here. What were you doing?"   
  
    Farkas shrugged. "Nothing, really," he said. "Cleared out some bandits who were trying to extort the farmers at Rorikstead. He’s just got no endurance." He paused. "Good in a quick fight, but not an extended one. Gets out of breath too fast."   
  
    "Doesn't practise enough, I suppose," Aela said. "Skjor wanted to get him working more." A shadow crossed her face.   
  
    "We'll get him whipped into shape," Farkas assured her. “Or he’ll get himself killed and it won't be a problem.”  
  
    Aela smiled faintly. "Vilkas is sleeping. He had Ria out in the yard most of the day."  
  
    Farkas nodded, turned and made his way down to the living quarters. There he found Kodlak seated comfortably at his table, a half-emptied plate and several open books before him. "Harbinger," Farkas greeted him. Kodlak looked up at him and smiled.  
  
    "Farkas," he said. "Come and sit. Are you just getting back?"  
  
    "I am," Farkas agreed. He sat carefully, shifted to get comfortable.   
  
    "May I assume you were successful at your task?"   
  
    "I was. It wasn't a difficult one," Farkas admitted. "But a good one for training."  
  
    "And did Torvar learn from it?" The old man's blue eyes twinkled a little, knowing.   
  
    Farkas shrugged. "Maybe that he needs to train some more. Tires too easily."  
  
    "That can be remedied, in a young man," Kodlak said ruefully. "He runs a little hot, as the young ones do. Without restraint, that heat can't last."  
  
    "No."   
  
    Kodlak sobered, and searched Farkas' face. "You've been told, then," he said softly.  
  
    "Aela told me."  
  
    "It pains my heart to lose him," Kodlak sighed, and his gaze fell to the books before him. Farkas waited, and a moment later Kodlak looked up again. "Perhaps," he went on, "you might put a whisper of restraint into Aela's ear. She has had Ehlana focused entirely on destroying the Silver Hand."  
  
    Farkas nodded, thoughtful. "Not a bad thing, I guess."   
  
    "Ah, but Skjor has been avenged. They now spill blood beyond the necessary."   
  
    Farkas considered, pursed his lips a moment. "I'll do what I can, Harbinger," he said. "But you know Aela won't listen to me."   
  
    "She is of a strong mind," Kodlak agreed. "But if you and Vilkas both—" He paused, shrugged. "I simply fear the retaliation her actions may incite. I should not like to mourn another Companion, so soon."   
  
    Farkas nodded again. "I'll do what I can, Harbinger," he repeated.  
  
    "It's all I ask," Kodlak said, and smiled. "You go, now, wash and eat and rest, and I will talk with you again in the morning."   
  
    "Yes, Harbinger." Farkas stood carefully, turned and headed back down the hall. He pushed open the door to Vilkas' room and peered inside; Vilkas lay curled on his side, in just his shirt and trousers. His eyelids fluttered open and then shut.   
  
    " _Aya dan_ ," he murmured, and shifted slightly on the bed. Farkas stepped inside, shut the door, and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. "All good?"  
  
    "All good," Farkas agreed. "Whelp's exhausted, but it went well."  
  
    "They need a more rigid schedule. They get lazy."    
  
    "Mm."  
  
    "You talk to anyone else yet?"  
  
    "Aela. She told me about Skjor."  
  
    Vilkas sighed. "We had the ceremony already. I'm sorry." He reached up, set a sympathetic hand on Farkas' shoulder; Farkas lifted a hand to cover Vilkas' fingers with his own.  
  
    "I know. Can't leave these things too long."   
  
    "No." Vilkas lowered his hand, stretched a little. "What are you going to do now?"  
  
    "Grab a bite," Farkas said. "Wash up. Then maybe get some rest."  
  
    "Good. It's been quiet while you were gone."   
  
    "You'd rather it wasn't?"  
  
    Vilkas chuckled and lay down again. "You know I love an action-filled day."   
  
    "Ria doing all right?"  
  
    "Mm." Vilkas thought a moment. "Improving. But she still wants to train with Aela."  
  
    "Aela doesn't use swords. Not the big ones."  
  
    “No, she doesn’t, and never has. Not built for it, either. But the girl’s got her heart set.”  
  
    “Mm.” Farkas turned to look at his brother; Vilkas’ blue eyes met his, and they both nodded, understanding. “Well, Aela’s got to have noticed by now.”  
  
    “You’d think,” Vilkas agreed.   
  
    “So you think she knows, and is just ignoring her?”  
  
    “No, I think she really hasn’t noticed. She thinks of the whelps the way Skjor does—“ Vilkas paused. “The way Skjor _did_. Always assessing their skills, not interested in their thoughts.”   
  
    “Or feelings.” Farkas stifled a smile. “I still remember him chasing that farmer boy away from here—what was his name?”  
  
    Vilkas frowned and his eyes grew distant. “Oh,” he said, after a moment’s thought, and he chuckled. “I know the one you mean. The one with the long yellow hair? Frederick.”  
  
    “That’s the one.” Farkas grinned. “Thought he was going to wet himself.”  
  
    “You shouldn’t find that so funny,” Vilkas told him haughtily. “He was—a fine young man.”  
  
    “Not bright, though.”   
  
    “Look who’s talking.”  
  
    Farkas snorted in amusement, stood and stretched. “Talk to you later.”   
  
    “Get some sleep,” Vilkas called after him.  
  
    “That’s the plan,” Farkas said, and shut the door behind himself.  
  
    In his room he shut the door, removed his armour and placed his sword on its rack. He  stripped down and tossed his clothes into a corner, crossed the room to his washbasin. Tilma had thoughtfully filled it before his return, and Farkas happily scrubbed himself clean and dried himself with a rough woven towel. He raked a comb through his hair and pulled on a clean set of trousers.  
  
    On the bedside table Tilma had left a plate of food for him—how had she known when he would return?—and Farkas smiled gratefully. He picked up his book from the shelf where he'd left it, climbed into his bed and sat with his back to the wall, the blankets over his lap. With one hand he stuffed crusty bread and hard cheese into his mouth; the other hand held his book, and when he had done eating he continued reading, until at last he dozed.   
  
    Soft warmth and the scent of sun-kissed grass permeated his dreams, and the book was gently lifted from his hands. Farkas opened his eyes as Ehlana slid easily to straddle his lap; he rested his hands on her hips as she settled a kiss on his mouth. "Hey," he greeted her. “Are you still wearing my shirt?”  
  
    "Hey," she replied, and smiled against his lips. "Yes, I am. Miss me?"  
  
    "Nope," he said. "Too busy."  
  
    She bit his chin lightly. "Liar."  
  
    Farkas chuckled. "I was busy," he assured her. With one arm around her waist to keep her against him, he slid down into the bed, drew the heavy furs up over them. "I had a job over near Rorikstead, took Torvar with me."  
  
    "I'm sure he loved that." She kissed his jaw. "How did it go?"  
  
    "The job? Just fine," he said, and kissed her forehead. "Could have done it easily without him. Just brought him along as training." He drew his fingers down her back, traced the smooth curves . "He needs to train harder though. No stamina."  
  
    "He drinks too much," Ehlana advised him.   
  
    "What d'you mean?"  
  
    "He's more interested in his mead than in his sword," she clarified.   
  
    "Mm. You're probably right."   
  
    "I'm always right, Farkas." She kissed his collarbone and squirmed to turn her back to him. Farkas waited until she was comfortable, then shifted himself and curled his arm around her once more.  
  
    He pressed his lips to the back of her neck. "I suppose you are," he murmured.   
  
    "You know I am." She paused, and when she spoke, her voice was softer. "They told you about Skjor?"  
             
    "Yes." He squeezed her gently. "You all right?"  
  
    "It wasn't a good way to go," she said. "Not at the hands of the Skinner. I saw what she did to the others."   
  
    "Mm." He'd seen the Skinner's handiwork. The pleasure she'd taken in her cruelty was sickening. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment to block the memories. "Aela told me you saved her life."  
  
    "I killed the Skinner," Ehlana clarified. "I was angry. I—Shouted."   
  
    "That's what she told me," Farkas agreed, and hugged her close. "Little Wren."  
  
    "Wren?"  
  
    "Yeah, you're like a wren. You come along looking like any ordinary person, but then you open your mouth and what comes out is amazing."   
  
    She burst into laughter at that. "That's a terrible analogy, Farkas," she informed him. "Are you saying I'm drab and brown like a wren?"  
  
    "I'm saying, you don't draw attention to yourself, so people underestimate you, until you decide to show them what you are. It's why Vilkas got his ass kicked the night he tested your arm. He didn't take you seriously because you didn't look like much, and you didn't say much, and he assumed you weren't much."  
  
    "Uh-huh."   
  
    "He knows better, now."   
  
    "Right."   
  
    He smiled against her shoulder. "You have any work tomorrow?"   
  
    "Mm. Kodlak wants me to do something for him."   
  
    "Want me to go along?"  
  
    She was quiet a moment. "I would love for you to come along," she said at last. "But it's a bunch of witches, the kind that keep the big spiders around."   
  
    Farkas shuddered as cold crept down his neck and over his back. "No, thank you," he said. "You can go do that one on your own." He tightened his arms around her, let their combined warmth chase away the shivers.   
  
    "When I come back," she said presently, drowsing, "we should go to the hot springs for the day."  
  
    "All right." He pressed his face against her head and inhaled the scent of her clean hair. It was growing longer, and she'd begun to put little combs and barrettes into it to keep it from her face when she was working. The old woman in the market, he mused, was always boasting about her pretty trinkets—perhaps he could have something made. Maybe something carved out of a piece of dragon bone. _That_ would be appropriate.   
  
    Pleased by the thought, Farkas drifted to sleep once more.   
  


* * *

  
    Vilkas opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling a moment, unsure what had awakened him.   
  
    It was not from the next room; Ehlana had left the hall the previous afternoon, for a job, and Farkas' heart was beating at a normal rate. Something was amiss.  
  
    Vilkas sat up and listened.   
  
     _Too many heartbeats._  
  
    He rose in an instant and dressed, swept up his sword and his shield and as he opened his bedroom door he came face to face with Farkas, equally alarmed and armed.  
  
    " _Es da na_?" Farkas murmured, as they moved swiftly together.  
  
    Vilkas shook his head, uncertain. " _Suun paro_ ," he replied. "Someone's here that shouldn't be."   
  
    In the corridor they met Aela and Kodlak, armed and alert. "Get the whelps up," Vilkas told Farkas. "Whatever it is, we will probably need all of us."   
  
    Farkas nodded and headed wordlessly toward the rooms shared by the rest of the Companions. Vilkas turned to Aela and Kodlak. "Harbinger," he said, "let us do the fighting."  
  
    Kodlak shook his head, raised his hammer. "I may be old," he said sternly, "but I am not yet dead. And if it is my time to die, it will not be said that I lay in bed and awaited it."   
  
    Vilkas pressed his lips together. "As you wish, Harbinger." He shot Aela a quick look; she nodded, almost imperceptibly. "Then let's go find out what is upon us." In silence they climbed the stairs toward the hall—  
  
   _There were too many of them._  
  
    He spun to keep them from flanking him, blocked and blocked and blocked but there was no gap through which he could strike. Then Farkas was at his back and at last Vilkas' sword drew blood, again and again, and only with an effort did he keep his beast form from springing joyfully forth. Farkas' massive blade spoke eloquently for him, crushed through armour and bone. On the edges of Vilkas' vision the whelps held their own, and the Silver Hand were soon driven back, driven out, chased out of the city and to whatever squalid cave they called home.   
  
    But Kodlak had fallen, a silver blade through his heart—  
  
     _brave hearts beat lesser ones_  
  
    —though he still clutched his hammer in one fist. And with his last breaths the Harbinger drew their attention to the empty space on the wall where once had hung the pieces of lost Wuuthrad.  
  
    Ehlana chose that moment to return, and Vilkas wheeled to face her, demanded to know where she had gone, why she hadn't been there when her presence could have turned the tide, could have saved Kodlak's life—  
  
    She stared, her face drained of blood, at the Harbinger's still form. "I—Kodlak had asked me to do something for him," she whispered. "I—"  
  
    "I hope it was worth it," Vilkas snarled. He strode swiftly toward her and pressed his forearm to her chest. "You will come with me, _now._ " He thrust her toward the door, then shoved past her, and did not look back to ensure she was following.  
  
    The scent of blood and silver was easy enough to track—straight through the streets of Whiterun, and out the gates leading to the stables.   
  
    Right through the heart of the city. _Had they bribed the guard?_ he wondered. _Had they even needed to?_  
  
    He cast a glance at the guards' barracks as they passed. Surely Caius wouldn't have allowed the Silver Hand to waltz in through the gates. But there had long been rumours that the guard were undisciplined under Caius; perhaps there had been no need of subterfuge or bribery. If the guards were indeed as inattentive as that man Sinmir claimed—  
  
    Outside the walls of the city he quickened his steps and Ehlana kept pace with him, silent. Good; he didn't want to speak with her, not right now. They had a mission to take care of, and until every last member of the Silver Hand in Skyrim was dead, they would not return to Whiterun.   
  


* * *

  
    With Wuuthrad once again whole, the remaining members of the Circle had travelled north, to Ysgramor's tomb, in the hope of fulfilling Kodlak's final wish. There Farkas had ashamedly held back while the others had pressed on, through sticky dusty webs and enormous frostbite spiders. He had returned to the base of Ysgramor's statue to wait, only to be joined by his brother shortly thereafter. Vilkas had sat heavily next to him and sighed, stared at his feet.  
  
    "I let my anger guide me," Vilkas had murmured. "I should not have done that. I should not have come to this sacred place with that much blood on my hands. With that much rage in my heart."  
  
    Farkas had draped his arm around Vilkas' shoulders, and the two of them had sat in understanding silence, until Ehlana and Aela had returned.   
  
    And Ehlana was now the Harbinger. Farkas wasn't quite sure how that had happened. Aela had explained that once she and Ehlana had freed Kodlak's spirit from the wolf, Kodlak had said that Ehlana would be Harbinger.   
  
    He had only ever known Kodlak in the role, from the time he and Vilkas had been small. It had always been expected that Skjor would be Harbinger when Kodlak died, but Skjor was dead, too. It was difficult for him to imagine Ehlana—tiny, cheerful Ehlana—in the role.   
  
    "Just treat her like you'd treat Kodlak," Vilkas had advised.  
  
    That would not be easy.   
  
    Farkas sighed and shifted restlessly on his bed. He wasn't ready to sleep, and he didn't feel like reading. He sat up, considered a moment, then rose and dressed, and went in search of Ehlana.   
  
    He listened carefully as he wandered the halls of Jorrvaskr, but she was not inside. He went out the back doors to the training yard, which was empty and silent in the clear night. The streets of Whiterun were also empty save the guards on patrol and those people who favoured the dark; the latter slid into shadows rather than risk an encounter with him. Farkas climbed up the steps to the wall, and asked a guard posted there if he had seen Ehlana; the guard swept a hand vaguely to the west.  
  
    "Saw her heading that way," he said, and shrugged. "Don't know where she was going."  
  
    "Thank you," Farkas said. He turned and gauged the distance below.  
  
    "Take the damn stairs," the guard said sharply. "You leaping off walls everywhere disturbs the others and it startles the cattle."  
  
    Farkas grinned, turned and obediently descended, passed through the gates properly, and once outside the city walls cast about for Ehlana's trail.   
  
    She had not gone far; he spotted her sitting atop a large boulder, her knees drawn to her chest as she stared at the sky. If she heard him approach she gave no sign. Farkas circled the boulder until he espied a means to climb up, and once he had he lowered himself to sit next to her. Above them the Aurora waved gently in shades of blue and green.  
  
    "When I was small," Ehlana spoke.  
  
    "You _are_ small," Farkas informed her.  
  
    " _You_ are just unnecessarily large," she chuckled. "When I was _young_ , then. I was a terribly impatient child."   
  
    "You're impatient still."   
  
    She turned her head to look at him. "Farkas," she said, mock stern, "are you going to keep interrupting me?"   
  
    He ducked his head in apology, leaned close and kissed her ear. "Sorry."   
  
    "You aren't," she advised him haughtily.  
  
    "I am," he said. "I'll be quiet."   
  
    She watched him dubiously a moment, then smiled and turned her gaze once more to the Aurora. "I was five or six, and just learning how to fletch," she said. "My sisters already knew how, and they did it easily. We all sat in a circle, and they just chatted with one another while they worked. But I was new to the task, and couldn't get it right. I got very frustrated, had a little tantrum, stomped on a pile of shafts and got splinters in my feet." She shook her head slowly. "Ruined shafts and bloody feet were all I got for my actions." She paused, and Farkas waited.  
  
    "My father is a healer," she continued. "He cleaned my feet and plucked out the splinters, put his own special ointment on them and wrapped them with bandages. Then he kissed me and sent me on my way. He always spoiled me a little."  
  
    "You're the youngest?" Farkas wondered.  
  
    "Yes, of six." She smiled, rueful. "I thought that was the end of it, but my mother had other ideas. She took me to the circle where the warriors trained, and she bound me to a post." Farkas frowned, not sure where this tale was headed. "She told me that until I got out of the bindings, I would get no food or water. And then she walked away."   
  
    "Why would she do that?"  
  
    "To teach me a lesson," Ehlana explained.   
  
    "About your temper?"  
  
    "No—not directly at least." She shifted slightly and leaned on his arm. Farkas lifted it and wrapped it around her, and Ehlana rested comfortably against him. "I was there for hours in the sun, struggling against the bindings. From my vantage point I could see everyone going about their business, and I knew they could see me, but no one spoke a word to me. Eventually the sun went down and I found myself in the dark, alone. I could smell meat being roasted, could hear people talking and laughing around the fires. I was tired and hungry and a little burnt from the sun, and the more I struggled against the bindings, the tighter they got. And at last I cried out for help, and my mother appeared out of nowhere—as though she had been waiting there. Without a word she cut away the bindings and picked me up and carried me inside. She held me in her lap while I ate and drank my fill."   
  
    "She wanted you to ask for help?"  
  
    "Exactly." She took his hand in both of hers, turned it palm upward, placed her own hand against it. Her fingertips barely reached his first knuckles. "The whole point was that I should have asked for help in the first place, instead of being angry that I couldn't do something on my own." She laced her fingers through his, looked up at the sky once more. "I still have a problem with it, though. I don't like to burden others."  
  
    "But you can't do everything by yourself."  
  
    "No, I can't," she said softly. "And I have to remind myself of that now and again."  
  
    "Want me to tie you to a post?" he asked, and squeezed her hand gently.   
  
    She laughed. "No, thank you." She sobered and sighed again. "Skjor shouldn't have died trying to teach me. And Kodlak shouldn't have died trying to defend Jorrvaskr from an attack brought on by my actions."   
  
    "Skjor chose his path," Farkas reminded her. "He died honourably. And through your actions, Kodlak was able to enter Sovngarde."  
  
    Ehlana fell silent for several minutes. Farkas looked up at the sky and the stars and he listened to the wind in the grass. Ehlana's heart was calm, its beat steady and strong. "I'm glad you're here," she told him quietly. "I wouldn't want to have to do all this without you."   
  
    Farkas pressed his cheek against her hair. "Your wish is my command, Harbinger."  
  
    "Don't be an ass," she said affectionately.   
  
    "You cured Kodlak," Farkas said then, and hesitated.  
  
    "Yes."   
  
    "Do you think you could—cure me?"  
  
    Ehlana sat up, turned to face him, her expression sober. "Do you want that?" she wondered.   
  
    He took a deep breath and nodded. "I think—I can't be a good Nord if I'm bound to the Blood. I want to go to Sovngarde when I die." He searched her face.  
  
    She nodded slowly. "I can do that for you, Farkas, if you're sure. We need to go back to Ysgramor's tomb, but it can be done."   
      
    He pursed his lips a moment. "And—you?" he said, quietly.   
  
    Ehlana smiled. "I want to be rid of this heat," she said, and gestured to her head, then her chest. "If I am to be Harbinger, I want not to have to struggle with being a beast." She searched his eyes. Farkas gathered her close and kissed her mouth.  
  
    "Just Ehlana, then," he said. "My little Wren."   
  
    "Hey," she said, and tugged on a lock of his hair. "Couldn't you have picked a more interesting bird, if you're going to give me a silly nickname?"  
  
    "Any other bird would be a lie," Farkas told her, his forehead against hers. "You're little and unassuming until you open your mouth."   
  
    "I am very average sized," she informed him with another tug at his hair. "You are especially large."  
  
    "You haven't had any complaints about that so far."   
  
    "Farkas!" She feigned punching his shoulder. He grinned and held her tighter. "You're a terrible man," she declared, and shifted to settle comfortably in his lap.   
  
    "Mm-hm."   
  
    She reached up and with her nails gently scratched his beard, down the length of his jaw and under his chin. "Want to stay out here all night with me?" she wondered.   
  
    "Yes," he said. "Or we could go home where it's nice and warm."   
  
    "Are you cold?"  
  
    "No."   
  
    "Are you trying to get me into your bed?"  
  
    "Maybe."   
  
    Ehlana smiled, shook her head with amusement. "You need to get a bigger bed."   
  
    "Probably."   
  
    "Let's go home, then."   
  
    "All right." He kept one arm around her as he stood and Ehlana reached up to hook her arm around his neck. He gauged the distance to the ground and stepped off the top of the boulder, landed with precision.   
  
    "You're going to damage your knees doing that," she informed him.  
  
    "Yes, Harbinger," he said with a grin. He straightened and set her on her feet.  
  
    "Don't you 'yes, Harbinger' me," she said, and wheeled to walk away from him. Farkas caught up with several long strides and slowed his pace to walk beside her. In a moment her warm little fingers found his and with their hands clasped, they made their way back to Jorrvaskr.


End file.
